


The Danger of Light and Joy

by Englishtutor



Series: The Other Doctor Watson [29]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Friendship, Gen, J. R. R. Tolkien - Freeform, Lord of the Rings, dealing with grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7143632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englishtutor/pseuds/Englishtutor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Greg has wonderful news and John struggles with devastating loss. J. R. R. Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings" helps them to deal with the events of life.  Spoilers for "The Lord of the Rings".</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Danger of Light and Joy

He’d long owned his own key to 221B Baker Street, and he’d long been welcome to enter unannounced. And so Greg thought nothing of letting himself in and climbing the stair to Sherlock’s and John’s flat that evening, hoping his friends were home and would enjoy sharing his exciting, joyful news and the Indian take-away he carried with him.

But as he entered the open sitting room door, he saw a dark and undecorated evergreen tree in the corner and John in his armchair, head in hands. He wondered whether he ought to intrude after all. His light-hearted mood subsided gently into a muted melancholia. Mary had been gone for 14 months now, and although they all were healing and recovering from their loss, still the grief sometimes took afresh each of the people who had loved her. Sometimes it was best just to be left alone with sorrow for a while.

But only for a while. Greg wondered just how long John had been sitting there alone. The thought of his friend mourning beside a lonely fireside and empty Christmas tree for hours made his decision for him; he walked in and set his packages of take-away on the coffee table, making as much noise as possible to announce himself. John straightened and quickly swiped at his eyes with his palms, the book that had lain in his lap toppling to the floor with a thud.

“Oh, Greg! I, erm . . . Sorry, I didn’t hear you come up,” the doctor said, his face red and his eyes moist.

“Thought we’d share a bite.” Greg indicated the fragrant take-away containers. “I’m starved, but didn’t fancy eating alone. Molly’s gone off shopping with Mrs. Hudson, you know.” Molly had arrived from Edinburgh earlier in the week; she was spending the holidays in London.

John smiled. “Ta. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and there’s nothing in. I was waiting for Sherlock, but who knows how long he’ll be. There're some jewels missing from some nobleman’s safe to track down.”

The doctor rose from his chair and went into the kitchen, switching on the kettle and pulling mugs from the cupboard. Greg followed and helped himself to two plates and two forks and a large serving spoon. Soon the food had been portioned out and cups of tea were in hand, and the two men settled in the chairs by the fire in comfort. For some time they ate together in silence, content in each other’s sympathetic company.

“Fellowship of the Ring,” The D.I. commented at length, indicating the book which John had dropped and left lying on the floor. “Y’know, I still get teary-eyed when old Gandalf falls in Moria every time I read it. Doesn’t matter that I know he’s coming back to life, later on.” Greg smiled affectionately. “Not unlike a certain consulting detective we both know.”

The corners of John’s mouth quirked, but he couldn’t quite manage a smile. “Some who fall come back; some don’t,” he observed quietly, looking down into his cup of tea rather than meeting his friend’s eye. “I’ve got past that part of the book, though. I was reading the bit when they leave Lothlorien. The part where Gimli says, ‘Torment in the dark was the danger that I feared, and it did not hold me back. But I would not have come, had I known the danger of light and joy . . .’“His voice trailed off and he fell silent, his eyes on the floor.

 

Greg’s brows lifted in understanding—he was familiar with that passage as well. Picking up the book from the floor, he turned with practiced hands to the correct page and silently perused it until he found where John had left off: Now I have taken my worst wound in this parting, even if I were to go this night straight to the Dark Lord. . . . Not a good place for his friend’s mind to go, Greg thought grimly. He chose instead to read aloud part of Legolas’ reply: “For such is the way of it: to find and lose, as it seems to those whose boat is on the running stream. But I count you blessed. . . .”

 

He cleared his throat self-consciously as John showed no sign of hearing him. Skipping ahead a bit, he continued to read. “’. . . you have not forsaken your companions, and the least reward that you shall have is that the memory of Lothlórien shall remain ever clear and unstained in your heart, and shall neither fade nor grow stale.’”

“’Memory is not what the heart desires. That is only a mirror, be it clear as Kheled-zaram,’” John quoted the next line of the passage without emotion, his face still turned away, looking into his empty cup.

Heart aching, Greg frowned in thought. “John, you’re not. . . . You’re surely not regretting you ever married Mary? I know losing her has been hard, but never knowing her at all would certainly be worse.”

John sighed. “No. No, of course not. But . . . I don’t know. . . It seemed to me, as I read that bit, that perhaps it would have been . . . easier . . . if I’d never met her. You can’t long for a Lothlorien you never knew existed.” He looked up, and their eyes met—one pair blue and the other brown, and yet identical in their sorrowful expressions. “You’ve lost two daughters now, Greg. Don’t you ever wish, even for a second . . . .?” He fell silent again, not willing to complete the thought.

Absolutely not! Greg wanted to declare. His little Rose, in her six years of life, had filled his heart with so much love and had shown such simple faith in him. The ideal of being who his Rose had believed him to be had become the north star of his existence, keeping him on a true course. And then twenty years later, Mary had swept into his life, and it was as if Rose had come back to him again, all grown up—a reward for all those years of toiling on alone. Even though Mary had also been a part of his life for only six short years, the sense of honour he felt that two such amazing people had called him “Papa” continued to fill his days with a sense of purpose.

And yet. . . if he were honest, he had to admit that there had been times when past memories of light and joy became more real than the present and the knowledge of what had been lost was overwhelming enough to make him wish he’d never known the joys of fatherhood so that he could not know the grief of loss.

“I’ve had my moments,” he admitted reluctantly. “But the feeling passes quickly. I can’t truly regret the past, because it made me what I am today, and because the honour of being part of the lives of both my girls was worth . . . well, anything, really.”

John nodded and smiled grimly. “I know. I know it. I feel that way most of the time. But as I read that passage, I just couldn’t help wondering: if I’d known what a very little time we would have together, would I have had the courage to even ask her out for our first date?” He sighed. “Mary was so much more courageous than I. She knew, or thought she knew, from the start of our relationship that she would be widowed one day; perhaps even been quite a young widow.”

Greg knew this was true. Given John’s greater age and dangerous lifestyle, everyone had assumed he would be the one to go first, if they ever thought of such things at all. That Mary had died so young had been a shock to all who knew them.

“Losing people was her biggest fear, and every time she said good-bye to me she had to face that fear -- perhaps that would be the day she would lose me,” John mused. “But she married me anyway.” His voice was filled with the wonder of it all.

“She felt you were worth taking the chance, mate,” Greg smiled warmly then. “And you know it, too — that being with her was worth it, even if it was only for a little while.”

John looked thoughtfully past his friend at the darkened evergreen in the corner. “Wouldn’t it make her mad, seeing that tree sitting there without one string of fairy lights or one strand of garland? She loved Christmas.”

“That she did,” Greg agreed, turning to look at the lightless tree. He was encouraged by the sight of it, however: last Christmas they had all forgotten any celebration of the season, with Mary only two months gone. That John had thought to buy a tree at all was a great step forward. And now John seemed ready to move on from his dark thoughts, and that was encouraging as well. “Do you have anything to put on it, or should we go out and buy some things?”

“I don’t know,” John looked into his empty tea mug again and sighed wearily. “I need more tea before I can think about it.”

Greg chuckled softly and dared to lighten the mood. “That quote in the book doesn’t suit you at all, my friend. You’re no dwarf like Gimli. Of all the characters in Middle Earth, you are most like a hobbit, I should think.”

John’s sudden laughter at this little jest warmed Greg’s heart. “Ta for that!” he feigned indignation. “So I’m all cups-of-tea and comforts-of-home, then, I suppose?” He rose and went to the kitchen to switch on the kettle, seeming to recover himself completely.

Greg snorted and followed his friend. “Don’t forget who the heroes of the story are! It’s hobbits who save the day, nearly every time, don’t they? Those tough little buggers are who I’d want on my side in a fight!”

John smiled fondly at him as he put fresh tea bags into their cups. “Speaking of being on your side, I understand congratulations are in order. I couldn’t be more pleased for you and Molly, mate. And the news of her new job at Bart’s is the icing on the cake, isn’t it? She’ll be moving back here from Edinburgh soon, won’t she?”

Greg was completely taken aback. “All right, now you’re more wizard than hobbit. I haven’t told anyone yet! That was what I came here for—to tell you I’d popped the question to Molly. But why should I tell you anything, when you already know everything about everything? Or did Sherlock deduce it all and tell you?” 

John chuckled warmly. “No deductions needed, mate. Molly came by a couple of days ago, beside herself with excitement that you’d made reservations for dinner and dancing at the Ritz for last night. She was sure you’d consulted with me on the arrangements.”

Feeling his face grow red with embarrassment, Greg grudgingly admitted, “I suppose I ought to have been more original. I’m no good at romantic gestures, and proposing to Mary at the Ritz seemed to have worked out all right for you, so I thought I’d give it a go.”

“Oh, Molly was quite happy with your plans. Giddy, I should say,” John assured his friend. “It seems that, the night before Mary and my big date at the Ritz, the girls spent hours giggling and trying on outfits and experimenting with hairstyles, and then Molly did Mary’s nails. A sort of ritual girls have, I think. It was Mary Molly wanted, not me, of course. I was a poor Mary-substitute, I’m afraid, but I stood in for her as best I could.”

Greg was horrified. “Oh, god, I never thought! I never meant to bring back painful memories for Molly.”

“No, no, it was good for her, I think,” John assured him. “I believe it brought Mary back to her in a way nothing else has, having this shared experience. Cathartic, I think you would call it. We talked a while, and I gave her my best guess of what Mary’s opinion on clothes and things would be; and we danced for hours. She said she wanted the practice. Did you know she had tried to teach Mary how to dance? We all know how well that worked out, don’t we?”

Greg snorted. “Mary was the most uncoordinated woman ever to grace a dance floor,” he remembered fondly. “I used to tell her I needed combat boots and shin guards to endure her technique.”

John chortled softly. “She used to carry on so about what shoes to wear to a dance affair. I never understood why it mattered—she’d kick off whatever footwear she had on within the first ten minutes.”

Suddenly struck with an intriguing thought, Greg said, “John, please don’t tell me you did Molly’s nails, too?”

John gave him an inscrutable look. “All right, I won’t tell you,” he replied with great dignity. Then their eyes met, and they both howled with laughter. It was good, so good, to laugh together. All tension disappeared, and sorrow was beaten back into submission once again, tempered by shared affection and understanding.

“It was Mary who pushed me to call on Molly in the first place,” Greg admitted, grinning affectionately. “And apparently she pointed Molly in my direction, as well. If it weren’t for her. . . .”

“She was scheming to get you two together, that’s certain,” John agreed. “Had a whole plan outlined. She would be over the moon about your news, mate, although not a bit surprised.”

At that moment, the front door opened and the two men heard Molly’s voice calling to Mrs Hudson down on the ground floor. Soon light footsteps were heard on the stairs.

“Why, Greg, I didn’t know you’d be here!” Molly cried, dropping her parcels and flying to her new fiancé in delight and throwing her arms around his neck. “Mrs Hudson and I picked up some fairy lights for John and Sherlock’s tree and I’m to help her make the flat festive for them. Hello, John,” she turned to the doctor and hugged him as well. “I’ve brought you the lights, and some garland as well.” She lost no time opening the packages she’d dropped.

“Hoo ooo!” Mrs Hudson called as her arthritic tread was heard on the stairs. “I’ve done some baking, John, dear, and I have ever so many gingerbread ornaments to hang on your tree.” Soon they were all busy putting up lights and tinsel and bringing the Christmas spirit into 221B. 

They were nearly finished when Sherlock came home, flushed with the excitement of another case solved. He was carrying, of all things, a holly wreath—all dark green leaves and bright berries—which John immediately hung on the mirror over the fireplace.

“Where on earth did you get it, dear?” Mrs Hudson demanded. “It doesn’t seem the sort of thing you’d go out of your way to buy, does it?”

“It was a gift from my grateful client,” Sherlock admitted. “I wasn’t going to take it, but it . . . it seemed like something Mary would have liked.”

“Oh, yes, Mary would have loved it!” Molly told him, kissing his cheek. “She would have loved this tree, as well. What a lovely job we’ve done!”

Greg looked around the flat gratefully. The fairy lights had been wound, not just around the evergreen, but all over the room along with strands of shining garland. The dismal, gloomy atmosphere had been effectively dispelled by the light and joy of this unlikely little family—this family Mary Watson had forged and left as her great gift to them. He took his Molly’s hand in his and knew this to be a gift from Mary as well.

In times of great emotion, Greg often found himself quoting Shakespeare. But now another line from Tolkien came to mind and he impulsively spoke his thought aloud: “’Certainly I looked for no such friendship as you have shown. To have found it turns great evil to good.’”

Stunned faces turned to him in bemusement, but John’s eyes twinkled at him knowingly. “’He saw his friends’ faces more clearly again, and a measure of new strength and hope returned,’” he countered, smiling.

“They’re doing that quoting thing again,” Sherlock sighed.

“I have eggnog in the fridge,” Mrs Hudson announced, and they all helped to serve it out, and they toasted the new couple in front of a blazing hearth. No hobbit-hole could have been more filled with the comforts of home that December evening than that little Baker Street flat.


End file.
